In the Clouds

I.

IN the semblance of the cumulus-cloud from which it takes its name, charged with the portent of the storm, the massive peak of Thunderhead towers preëminent among the summits of the Great Smoky Mountains, unique, impressive, most subtly significant.

What strange attraction of the earth laid hold on this vagrant cloud-form? What unexplained permanence of destiny solidified it and fixed it forever in the foundations of the range ?

Kindred thunderheads of the air lift above the horizon, lure, loiter, lean on its shoulder with similitudes and contrasts. Then with all the buoyant liberties of cloudage they rise, — rise !

Alas ! the earth clasps its knees ; the mountains twine their arms about it; hoarded ores of specious values weigh it down. It cannot soar! Only the cumbrous image of an ethereal thing! Only the ineffective wish vainly fashioned like the winged aspiration !

It may have said naught of this to Ben Doaks, but it exerted strenuous fascinations on the sense alert to them. Always he turned his eyes toward Thunderhead, as he came and went among his cattle on the neighboring heights of Piomingo Bald, a few miles distant to the northeast. Often he left the herder’s cabin in the woods below, and sat for hours on a rock on the summit, smoking his pipe and idly watching the varying aspects of the great peak. Sometimes it was purple against the azure heavens ; or gray and sharp of outline on faint green spaces of the sky; or misty, immaterial, beset with clouds, as if the clans had gathered to claim the changeling.

“’Pears-like ter me ez I couldn’t herd cattle along of a mo’ low-sperited, say-nuthin’ critter ’n ye be, Ben,” his partner said one day, sauntering up the slope and joining him on the summit. “Ye jes’ set up hyar on the bald an’ gape at Thunderhead like ez ef ye war bereft. Now, down in the cove ye always air toler’ble good company, — nimble-tongued ez ennybody.”

He thrust his cob-pipe into his mouth and pulled away silently at it, gazing at the smoke as it curled up with delicate sinuosity and transparently blue.

Ben Doaks did not reply at once. There was no need of haste on Piomingo Bald.

“ Waal, I dunno but it air a sorter lonesome place, an’ a-body don’t feel much like talkin’ no-ways,” he drawled at last. " But ye ’ll git used ter it, Mink,” he added, in leisurely encouragement. “ Ye’ll git used ter it, arter a while.”

Mink looked down disconsolately at the vast array of mountains below him on every side. The nearest were all tinged with a dusky purple, except for the occasional bare, garnet - colored stretches of the " fire-scalds,” relics of the desolation when the woods were burned in the autumn ; the varying tints were sublimated to blue in the distance ; then through every charmed gradation of ethereal azure the ranges faded into the invisible spaces that we wot not of. There was something strangely overwhelming in the stupendous expanse of the landscape. It abashed the widest liberties of fancy. Somehow it disconcerted all past experience, all previous prejudice, all credence in other conditions of life. The fact was visibly presented to the eye that the world is made of mountains.

Copyright, 1885, by HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co.

That finite quality of the mind, aptly expressing itself in mensuration, might find a certain relief in taking note of the curious “bald” itself, — seeming some seventy or eighty bare acres on the summit. Wild grass grows upon its gradual slope; clumps of huckleberry bushes appear here and there; occasional ledges of rock crop out. A hardy flower will turn a smiling face responsive to the measured patronage of the chilly sunshine in this rare air. The solemnity of the silence is broken only by the tinkling of cow-bells, faint, far, from the herds of cattle among the woods lower down on the mountain side.

“ I never kin git used ter it,” said Mink, desperately. “ I never kin git used ter hevin’ sech dumbness about me, an’ seein’ the time go so slow. ’Pears ter me some fower or five hunderd year sence we eat bre’kfus, — an’ I ain’t hongry, nuther.”

He was a tall, singularly lithe man of twenty four or five, clad in a suit of brown jeans. He wore his coat closely buttoned over his blue-checked cotton shirt, for the August days are chilly on Piomingo Bald. His broad-brimmed white wool hat was thrust back on his head, showing his tousled auburn hair that hung down upon his collar, curling like a cavalier’s. He had a keen, clear profile, a quickly glancing, restless dark eye, and his complexion was tanned to a rich tint that comported well with the out-door suggestions of his powder-horn and belt and shot-pouch, which he wore, although his rifle was at the cabin. He maintained the stolid gravity characteristic of the mountaineer, but there was a covert alertness about him, a certain sharpness of attention almost inimical, and slow and dawdling as he was he gave the impression of being endowed with many an agile unclassified mental faculty.

His eyes followed the flight of a bird soaring in great circles high above the “ bald,” sometimes balanced motionless in mid-air, — a pose of ineffable strength and buoyancy, — then majestically circling as before.

“ That thar buzzard ’pears ter be a-loungin’ around in the sky, a-waitin’ fur we-uns ter die,” he said, lugubriously.

Doaks broke with an effort from his reverie, and turned his languid gaze on the malcontent herder.

“ In the name o’ heaven, Mink Lorey,” he said solemnly, “ what is it ye do like ter do ? ”

Despite the spark of irritation in his eye, he seemed colorless, especially as contrasted with his comrade. He had a shock of fair hair and a light brown beard; the complexion which is the complement of this type had freckled in its exposure to the sun instead of tanning, and added its original pallor to the negative effect. He had good features, inconsequent in their lack of any marked peculiarity except for the honest, candid look in the serious gray eye. He too wore a broad white wool but and a suit of brown jeans.

Mink gazed at his companion with an expression of brightening interest. He found himself and his own idiosyncrasies, even when berated, more agreeable to contemplate than the mountains. He did not reply, perhaps appreciating that no answer was expected.

“Ye don’t like ter herd up hyar, an’ the Lord knows I ain’t keerin’ ter hev ye. Ye hev gin me ez much trouble ez all the cattle an’ thar owners besides. When ye wanted ter kem so bad, an’ sorter go partners with me, I ’lowed ye’d be lively, an’ a toler’ble good critter ter hev along. An’ ye hev been ez lonesome an’ ez onconsiderate an’ ez ill-convenient ez a weanin’ baby,” he declared, rising to hyperbole. “ What do ye like ter do ? ”

Once more Mink refrained from reply. He looked absently at an isolated drift of mist, gigantic of outline, reaching from the zenith to the depths of Piomingo Cove, and slowly passing down the valley between the Great Smoky and the sunflooded Chilhowee Mountain, obscuring for the moment the red clay banks of the Scolacutta River, whose current seems a mere silver thread twining in and out of the landscape.

“ Look-a-hyar at the way ye go on,” said Doaks, warming to the subject, for there are few exercises so entertaining as to preach with no sense of participation in sin. “ Ye went ter work at that thar silver mine in North Car’lina, an’ thar ye stayed sorter stiddy an’ peaceful till ye seen yer chance. An’ Pete Rood, he kem an’ stayed too, an’ he war sorter skeered o’ the ways, —_not bein’ used ter minin.’ An’ then yer minkish tricks began. Fust, when that thar feller war let down inter the shaft an’ ye hed a-holt o’ the windlass, ye drapped a few clods o’ dirt in on him, an then a leetle gravel, an’ then mo’ dirt. Then he bellered that the shaft war cavin’ in on him, an’ plead an’ prayed with ye ter wind him up quick. An’ ye wouldn’t pull. An’ when the t’other fellers run thar an’ drawed that man out he war weak enough ter drap.”

“ I ’member ! ” cried Mink, with a burst of unregenerate laughter. “ He said, ‘ Lemme git out’n this spindlin’ hell o’ a well! ’ ”

He sprang up, grotesquely imitating the gesture of exhaustion with which the man had stepped out of the bucket to firm ground.

“Waal, it mought hev turned out a heap wus,” said Doaks, “ kase they ’lowed down yander ’bout Big Injun Mounting, whar Rood hails from, ez he hev got some sort’n heart disease. An’ a suddint skeer mought hev killed him.”

“ Shucks !" said Mink, incredulously. He looked disconcerted, however, and then sat down on the rock as before. Ben Doaks went on : —

“An’ that war n’t enough fur ye. When they hed Rood thar a-pumpin’ out water, all by himself all night, nuthin’ would do ye but ye must hide up thar in the Lost-Time mine in the dark o’ the midnight an’ the rain, an’ explode a lot o’ gunpowder, an’ kem a-bustin’ out at him from the mouth o’ the tunnel, wrapped in a sheet an’ howlin’ like a catamount. He run mighty nigh a mile.”

“ Waal,” said Mink, in sturdy argument, “ I ain’t ’sponsible kase Peter Rood air toler’ble easy skeered.”

“ They never hired ye ter work thar no mo’ , bein’ ez that war ’bout all the use ye put yerse’f ter in the silver mine in North Car’liny.”

Despite the reproof, Doaks was looking kindly at him, for the wayward Mink had evidently endeared himself in some sort to the elder herder, who was weakly conscious of not regarding his enormities with the aversion they merited.

The young man’s countenance fell. His mischief differed from that of his namesake in all the sequelæ of an accusing conscience. But stay! What do we know of the mink’s midday meditations, his sober, ex post facto regrets ?

“An’ what do ye do then, — kase they turned ye off ? Ye go thar of a night, when nobody’s at the windlass, an’ ye busts it down an’ flings the bucket an’ rope an’ all down the shaft.”

Mink was embarrassed. “ How d’ ye know?” he retorted, with acrid futility.

“ How d’ ye know’t war me ? ”

“ Kase it air fairly kin ter yer actions, — know it by the family favor,” said Doaks. “ Ax enny body enny whar round the Big Smoky who did sech an’ sech, an’ they ’d all say, Mink. Ye know the word they hev gin ye, ‘ Mink by name an’ Mink by natur.’”

Lorey made no further feint of denial. He seemed a trifle out of countenance. He glanced over his shoulder at the rugged horizontal summit line of Chilhowee, rising high above the intervenient mountains, and sharply imposed upon the mosaic of delicate tints known as the valley of East Tennessee, which stretches so far that, despite its sharp inequalities, it seems to have the level monotony of the sea till Walden’s Ridge, the great outpost of the Cumberland Mountains, meets the concave sky.

Then, as his wandering attention returned to those sterner heights close at hand, the inexpressible gravity, the significant solemnity, which he could not apprehend, which baffled every instinct of his limited nature, smote upon him.

He broke out irritably : —

“ What do ye jes’ set thar a-jowin’ at me fur, Ben, like a long-tongued woman, ’bout what I done an’ what I hain’t done, in this hyar lonesome place whar I hev been tolled ter by you-uns ? I never begged ter be 'lowed ter herd along of ye, nohow. When I kem an’ axed ye ’bout’n it, ye ’lowed ye 'd be powerful glad. An’ ye tole me, ez so many o’ the farmers in the flat woods hed promised ter bunch thar cattle an’ send ’em up ter ye fur the summer season, that ye war plumb skeered ’bout thar bein’ too many fur one man ter keer fur, an’ ye did n’t see how ye’d git along ’thout a partner. An’ ye ’lowed ye ’d already rented Piomingo Bald right reasonable, an’ the owners o’ the cattle would pay from seventy-five cents to a dollar a head; an’ ye’d gin me a sheer ef I’d kem along an’ holp ye,— an’ all sech ez that. An’ I kem up in the spring, an’ I hev been on this hyar durned pinnacle o’ perdition ever sence. It ’minds me all the time o’ that thar high mounting in the Bible whar the Tempter showed off all the kingdoms o’ the yearth. What ails ye ter git arter me ? I hain’t tried no minkish tricks on you-uns.”

“ Ye hev, Mink. Yes, ye hev.”

Mink looked bewildered for a moment. Then a shade of consciousness settled on his face. He lifted one foot over his knee and affected to examine the sole of his boot. The light zephyr was tossing his long, tangled locks, the sun shone through their filaments. No vanity was expressed in wearing them thus, — only some vague preference, some prosaic prejudice against shears. Their fineness and lustre did nothing to commend them, and they had been contemptuously called a “sandy breshheap.” His bright eyes had a fringe of the same unique tint that softened their expression. He dropped his boot presently, and fixed his gaze upon a flitting yellow butterfly, lured by some unexplained fascination of fragrance to these skyey heights.

“ Ye can’t make out ez I stand in yer way, enny,” he said at last, enigmatically.

Doaks’s face flushed suddenly. “No, I ain’t claimin’ ez I hev enny chance. Ef I hed, an’ ye war in my way,” he continued, abruptly, with a sudden flare of spirit, “ I’d choke the life out’n ye, an’ fling yer wu’thless carcass ter the wolves. I’d crush yer skull with the heel o’ my boot! ”

He stood up for a moment; then turned suddenly, and sat down again. Mink looked at him curiously, with narrowing lids.

Doaks’s hands were trembling. His eyes were alert, alight. The blood was pulsing fast through his veins. So revivified was he by the bare contemplation of the contingency that he seemed hardly recognizable as the honest, patient, taciturn comrade of Piomingo Bald.

“Waal,” Mink said presently, “that war one reason I wanted ter herd along o’ you-uns this year. I ’lowed I’d make right smart money through the summer season, an’ then me an’ Lethe would git married nex’ fall, mebbe. Lethe’s folks air so pore an’ shiftless, — an’ I’d ez lief live along of a catamount as her mother, — an’so I ’lowed we’d try ter git a leetle ahead an’ set up for ourselves.”

Doaks trembled with half-repressed excitement.

“ Ye tole me ez ye an’ she hed quar’led,”he said, “Ye never dreampt o’ sech a thing ez savin’ fur a house an’ sech till this minit. Ye ain’t been ter see her sence ye hev been on the Big Smoky till ye fund out ez I went down thar wunst in a while, an’ the old folks favored me.”

“Waal,”said Mink, hardily, “ I know she 'd make it up with me enny minit I axed her.”

Doaks said nothing for a time. Then suddenly, “ Waal, then, ef ye air layin’ off ter marry Lethe Sayles, why n’t ye quit bangin’ round Elviry Crosby, an’ tarryfyin’ Peter Rood out’n his boots? They’d hev been married afore now, ef ye hed lef’ 'em be.”

“Why n’t she quit hangin’ round me, ye’d better say!” exclaimed Mink, with the flattered laugh of the lady-killer.

“ Laws-a-massy, I don’t want ter interfere with nobody. Let the gals go ’long an’ marry who they please, — an’ leave me alone ! ”

His manner implied, if they can! And he laughed once more.

Doaks glanced at him impatiently, and then turned his eyes away upon the landscape. Fascinations invisible to the casual gaze revealed themselves to him day by day. He had made discoveries. In some seeming indefiniteness of the horizon he found the added beauty of distant heights, as if, while he looked, the softened outline of blue peaks, given to the sight of no other creature, were sketched into the picture. Once it was a sudden elusive silver glinting, imperceptible to eyes less trained to the minutiæ of these long distances, that told him the secret source of some stream, unexplored to its head-waters in a dark and bosky ravine. Sometimes he distinguished a stump which he had never seen before in a collection of dead trees, girdled long ago, and standing among the corn upon so high and steep a slope that the slant justified the descriptive gibe of the region, “fields hung up to dry.” The sky, too, was his familiar; he noted the vague, silent shapes of the mist that came and went their untmagined ways. He watched the Olympian games ol the clouds and the wind. He marked the lithe lengths of a meteor glance across the August heavens, like the elastic springing of a shining sword from its sheath. The moon looked to meet him, waiting at his tryst on the bald.

He had become peculiarly sensitive to the electric conditions of the atmosphere, and was forewarned of the terrible storms that are wont to break on the crest of the great mountain.

Often Mink appealed to him as he did now, imputing a certain responsibility.

“ Enny thunder in that thar cloud ? ” he demanded, with the surly distrust which accompanies the query, “ Does yer dog bite ? ”

“ Naw ; no thunder, nor rain nuther.”

“ I’m powerful glad ter hear it, kase I don’t ’sociate with this hyar bald when thar’s enny lightning around.”

He had heard the many legends of “lightning balls” that are represented as ploughing the ground on Piomingo, and he spoke his fears with the frankness of one possessed of unimpeachable courage.

“ That’s what makes me despise this hyar spot,” he said, irritably. “ Things ’pear so cur’ous. I feel like I hev accidentally stepped off’n the face o’ the yearth. An’ I hev ter go mighty nigh spang down ter the foot o’ the mounting ’fore I feel like folks agin.”

He glanced downward toward the first trees that asserted the right to growth about this strange and barren place. “ Ye can’t git used ter nuthin’, nuther. Them cur’ous leetle woods air enough ter make a man ’low he hev the jim-jams ez a constancy. I dunno what’s in ’em ! My flesh creeps whenever I go through ’em. I always feel like ef I look right quick I ’ll see suthin’ awful, — witches, or harnts, or — I dunno ! ”

He looked down again at them, quickly; but he was sure not quickly enough.

And the woods were of a strange aspect, chiefly of oaks with gnarled limbs, full-leaved, bulky of bole, but all uniformly stunted, not one reaching a height greater than fifteen feet. This characteristic gave a weird, unnatural effect to the long avenues beneath their lowspreading boughs. They encircled Piomingo Bald, and stretched along the summit of the range, unbroken save where other domes — Silar’s Bald, Gregory’s Bald, and Parsons’ Bald — rose bare and gaunt against the sky.

“ Ez ter witches an’ harnts an’ them, I ain’t never seen none hyar on Piomingo Bald,” said Doaks. “ It ain’t never hed the name o’ sech, like Thunderhead.”

Mink placed his elbows on his knees, and held his chin in his hand. His roving dark eyes were meditative now ; some spell of the imagination lay bright in their depths.

“ Hev he been viewed lately ? ” he asked.

“ Who ? ” demanded Doaks, rousing himself.

“That thar Herder on Thunderhead,” said Mink, lowering his voice. The fibrous mist, hovering about the summit of Thunderhead and stretching its long, fine lines almost over to Piomingo Bald, might in some mysterious telegraphy of the air transmit the matter.

“ Not ez I knows on,” said Doaks. “ He ain’t been viewed lately. But Joe Boyd, he’s a-herdin’ over thar now: I kem acrost him one day las’ week, an’ he ’lowed ez his cattle hed been actin’ powerful strange. Joe ’lowed the cattle mus’ hev viewed him, an’ mebbe he war tryin’ ter ’tice ’em off.”

“ Ef ye ’ll b’lieve me,” said Mink ruminatively, after a pause, “ I never hearn tell o’ that thar harnt of a herder on Thunderhead whilst I war in Eskaqua Cove, nor in Piomingo Cove nuther.”

“ Ye don’t hear nuthin’ in them outo’-the-way places,” said Doaks, with contempt. “ But then, them other herders on Thunderhead don’t hanker ter talk ’bout him, noways. It’s powerful hard ter git a word out’n ’em ’bout it; they ’re mighty apt ter laff, an’ ’low it mus’ be somebody ridin’ roun’ from cross the line. But it’ll make enny of ’em bleach ef ye ax ’em suddint ef all o’ Joshua Nixon’s bones war buried tergether.”

The mists had spanned the abyss of the valley in a sheer, gossamer-like network, holding the sunbeams in a glittering entanglement. They elusively caressed the mountain summit, and hung about the two lounging figures of the herders, — a sort of ethereal eavesdropping of uncomfortable suggestions to Mink, — and slipped into the dwarfed woods, where they lurked spectrally.

“ Waal, ef ye ax ’em ef Joshua Nixon’s bones war all buried tergether they’ll bleach,” Doaks repeated. ‘‘See that thar sort’n gap yander?” he continued, pointing at a notch on the slope of Thunderhead. “ They fund his bones thar under a tree streck by lightning. They 'lowed that war the way he died. But the wolves an’ the buzzards hed n’t lef’ enough ter make sure. They hed scattered his bones all up and down the slope. He hed herded over thar a good many year, an’ some o’ the t’other boys keered fur the cattle till the owners kem in the fall.”

He recounted slowly. Time was no object on Piomingo Bald.

“ Waal, nobody hearn nuthin’ mo’ 'bout’n it fur a right smart time, till one day the cattle war all fund, runned mighty nigh ter death, an’ a-bellerin’ an’ a-cavortin’ ez ef they war witched. An’ one o’ the herders, Ike Stern, kem in thar ter the cabin an’ 'lowed he hed seen a lot o’ strange cattle ’mongst theirn, an’ a herder ridin’ ’mongst ’em. 'T war misty, bein’ a rainy spell, an’ he lost the herder in the fog. Waal, they jes’ ‘lowed ’t war some o’ we-uns from Piomingo Bald, huntin’ fur strays, or somebody from ’cross the line. So they jes’ went on fryin’ thar meat, an’ bakin’ thar hoe-cake, an’ settin’ roun’ the fire ; but this hyar man kept on complainin’ he could n’t holp seein’ that thar herder. An’ wunst in a while he’d hold his hand afore his eyes. An’ one o’ the old herders, — Rob Carrick 't war, — he jes’ axed him what that herder looked like. An’ Ike jes’ sot out ter tell. An’ the coffee war a-bilin’, an’ the meat a-sizzlin’, an’ Carrick war a-squattin’ afore the fire a-listenin’ an’ a-turnin’ the meat, till all of a sudden he lept up an’ drapped his knife, yellin’, ' My God ! ye lyin’ buzzard, don’t ye set thar a-tellin’ me ez Josh Nixon hev kem all the way from hell ter herd on Thunderhead! Don’t ye do it! Don’t ye do it!’ An’ Ike Stern, — he looked like he seen Death that minit ; his eyes war like coals o’ fire, an’ he trembled all over. — he jes’ said, ‘ I see I hev been visited by the devil, fur I hev been gin ter view a dead man, apin’ the motions o’ life.’ ”

Doaks pulled at his pipe for a few moments, his eyes still absently fixed on the purple peak shimmering in the gauzy white mists and the yellow sunshine.

“ I never shall furgit that night. Thar war fower men thar : two hed herded along o’ Josh on Thunderhead, but Ike Stern had never seen him in life, an’ me not at all. Waal, sir! the rain kem down on the roof, an’ the wind war like the tromplin’ o’ a million o’ herds o’ wild cattle. We ’lowed we hed never hearn sech a plungin’ o’ the yellemints. The night war ez dark ez a wolf’s mouth, ’cept when it lightened, an’ then we could see we war wropped in the clouds. An’ through all them crackin’ peals them men talked ’bout that thar harnt o’ a Herder on Thunderhead. Waal, nex’ mornin’ Stern jes’ gin up his job, an’ went down the mounting ter Piomingo Cove. An’ he stayed thar, too. They ’lowed he done no work fur a year an’ a day. His time war withered an’ his mind seemed darkened.”

“ He ’pears ter hev toler’ble good sense now,” said Mink, striving against credulity.

“ Yes, he hev spryed up powerful.”

“Waal,” said Mink, constrained by the fascination of the supernatural, “ I hev hearn ez Carrick seen the Herder, too.”

“ He did,” replied Doaks. “ Arter a while — a week, mebbe — Rob kem up ter me an’ axed, ‘ Whar’s them cattle a-bellerin’ ? ’ I listened, but I never hearn nuthin’. We hed missed some steers arter Ike hed seen the Herder, an’ Rob war sorter ’feard they’d run down inter the cove. He jumped on a halfbruk clay-bank colt an’ rid off, thinkin’ the bellerin’ mought be them. Waal, time passed. I hed nuthin’ in partic’lar ter do: cattle war salted the day before. Time passed. I jes’ sot thar. I ’lowed I 'd wait till Rob kem back, then I ‘d go a-huntin’. Time passed. I ’lowed I ’d furgit how ter talk ef I war n’t herdin’ along o’ sech a sociable critter ez Rob, an’ I wondered ef I war by myself up on Thunderhead ef I ’d hev ter talk ter myse’f a little. An’ ez I sot thar in the fog — ’t war September then, an’ we war clouded ez a constancy — I said, jes’ like a fool, out loud, suddint, ‘ Howdy, sir ! ’ Waal, I never did know what I seen ez I looked up ; mought hev been the mist, mought hev been the devil. I 'lowed I seen a man on a horse gallopin’ off in the fog. Then I hearn a power o’ jouncin’ hoofs, an’ hyar kem Rob’s colt a-rearin’ an’ a-pawin’, skeered ter death mighty nigh, with all the hide scraped off’n his knees, an’ his shins barked bad. I seen he hed hed a fall; so I jumped up an’ run down a leetle piece along the trail, an’ thar war Rob lyin’ on the groun’, flunged over the colt’s head ez neat an’ nip ! I run up ter him. I ’lowed he war hurt. He never answered a word I axed him. His eyes war stretched open bigger ’n enny eye I ever seen, an’ he said, ‘Ye hev viewed him too, Ben, I know it, fur ye’ve got the “ harnt bleach.” I know the reason now,’ says Rob, ‘ ez he herds on Thunderhead, — kase his bones war n’t all buried tergether, though we sarched nigh an’ we sarched fur.’ ”

“Did the Herder tell him that?” asked Mink, with a sudden accession of credulity.

“ Naw, ye durned fool! ” exclaimed Doaks, scandalized at the idea of this breach of spectral etiquette. “ The Herder jes’ passed him like the wind, an’ the colt jes’ reared and flung Rob over bis bead.”

“ Waal,” said Mink sturdily, “I b’lieve ’t war nuthin’ but somebody from the Car’lina side, ridin’ roun’ an’ tollin’ off cattle.”

“ Mebbe,” said Doaks, non-committally. “Ye can’t prove nuthin’ by me. All I know is, Carrick seen his face, an’ he jes’ fell in a sorter stupor fur a year an’ a day. I hev hearn o’ sech sperits ez can’t kill ye, but jes’ wither yer time, an’ mebbe this hyar Herder on Thunderhead be one o’ them.”

Neither spoke for some moments. Both sat gazing fixedly at the massive mountain in the likeness of a cloud lowering aggressively over the mean altitudes of the range. What wrath of elements did it hold enchained ? What bolts of heaven unhurled? What strange phenomena of being might lurk in those mystic vapors metamorphosed into the solidities of earth — this apostate cloud that asserted itself a mountain ? The sky was clear about it now ; the mists had all drifted over to Piomingo Bald, veiling the dwarfed forests.

Suddenly there was a vague shiver among them. Into the silence was projected the report of a rifle. The two men sprang to their feet, and looked at each other.

“ Somebody a-huntin’, I reckon,” said Mink. He was beginning to laugh, a little shamefacedly.

“ Listen ! ” said Doaks. “ What ’s that ? ”

The cattle were bellowing with affright in the stunted woods. The earth shook under their hoofs. A young bull came plunging out of the mists. He paused as he reached the bare slope, lifted his head, and looked back over his shoulder with great dilated eyes.

“ What ails the cattle ? ” exclaimed Doaks, running down the slope. Mink hesitated for a moment, then followed.

The boles of the dwarfed trees stood shadowy here and there, growing still more indistinct further, and fading into the white opaque blankness of the vapor. So low were their summits that one could see the topmost boughs, despite the encompassing mist.

All the cattle were in the wildest excitement, snorting and bellowing, and, with lowered horns and tails in the air, they were making at full speed for the upper regions of the bald. Each, bursting out of the densities of the fog, separated from the others, seemed to give some individual expression of bovine rage. There might be heard, but not seen, an infuriated animal hard by, tearing up the ground.

“ Waal, I never ’sperienced the like in my life off ’n Thunderhead ! ” exclaimed Doaks.

Mink said nothing ; he sprang aside to avoid the headlong rush of a brute that shot out of the mist and into it again with the swift unreality of an apparition.

Then he spoke suddenly. “ Ye never said he rid with a rifle.”

“Who?” asked Doaks, bewildered. He was in advance. He looked back over his shoulder. “ Who ? ” he repeated.

“ That thar Herder from Thunderhead,” said Mink.

“ Ye dough-faced idjit, — what d’ ye mean ? ”

Mink pointed silently.

A few yards distant there was a rude barricade of felled trees, laid together after the zigzag manner of a rail fence. It was intended to prevent the cattle from running down a precipitous ravine which it overlooked. Close to it in the mist a cow was lying. There was no mistaking the attitude. The animal was dead. A carefully aimed rifle-ball had penetrated the eye, and buried itself in the brain.

II.

Doaks did not reply.

There was blood upon the ground. An awkward attempt had been made to cut the brute’s throat, and, this failing, the rifle had been called into use. He walked up to the animal, and turned her head to look for the brass tag about her horns which would bear her owner’s mark. She wore no tag, and her hide had never known the branding iron. His eye fell on a peculiar perforation in her ear.

“ Mink,” he exclaimed, with a note of anguish, “ this hyar critter ’s my cow ! ”

Mink came up, his countenance adjusted to sympathy. He had little of the instinct of acquisition. He was almost incapable of any sentiment of that marvelous range of emotions which vibrate with such fineness of susceptibility to the alternations of gain and loss, He looked like an intelligent animal as he helped make sure of the herder’s mark.

“ Ye hed sech a few head o’ stock o’ yer own, ennyways,” he observed, with a dolorous lack of tact.

“ Oh, Lord A’mighty, none sca’cely,” exclaimed Doaks, feeling very poor. “ I dunno how in this worl’ this hyar cow happened ter be singled out.”

“ Mebbe he hed a gredge agin ye, too, ’bout them bones, bein’ ez ye herded on Thunderhead wunst,” suggested Mink.

“ What bones ?" demanded Doaks, amazed.

“ Why, his’n,” said Mink, in a lowered voice.

“ In the name o’ reason, Mink, what air ye a-drivin’ at?” cried Doaks, flustered and aghast.

“ Why, the Herder, o’ course. Him ez skeered the cattle on Thunderhead.

I 'lowed mebbe he hed a gredge agin you-uns, too.”

“ How ’d he kem over hyar ? ” demanded Doaks, with scorn, as if the harnt of a Herder were limited to the locality of Thunderhead. “ It’s a deal mo’ likely ter be some livin’ man ez hev got a gredge agin ye fur yer minkish ways, an’ seein’ the critter hed no tag on, an’ warn’t branded nuther, killed her fur ye.”

Mink drew a long breath. “ Waal, I hope so, the Lord knows. I’d settle him.” An essentially mundane courage was his, but a sturdy endowment as far as it went.

His imagination was of the pursuant order; it struck out no new trail, but, given a lead, it could follow with many an active expression of power. He accepted at once this suggestion, with a confidence as complete as if he had never credited the grudge of a ghostly herder.

“ An’ I ’ll be bound I kin tell ye jes’ who’t war,” he said, stoutly, producing a corollary to the proposition he had adopted as his own. “ ’T war that thar pop-eyed fool Peter Rood. I reckon ye hev noticed, ef one o’ them black-eyed, thick-set, big-headed men git made game of ’bout ennything, he ’ll pay ye back some mean way. Stiddier skeerin’ me fur skeerin’ him, he kems hyar an’ shoots that cow.”

He thrust one hand in his belt, and turned his bold bright glance on his partner. As he stood at his full height, lithe, vigorous, erect, a touch of freakishness in his eyes, decision expressed in his clear-cut features, a certain activity suggested even in his motionless pose, it might have seemed that the revenge of shooting the cow was the more hopeful project.

Doaks, a philosopher in some sort, and reflective, could discriminate as to motives.

“ Rood never done it fur that by itself. I don’t b’lieve he would hev done it jes’ fur that. But the way ez ye hev been performin’ sence ’bout Elviry Crosby air powerful aggervatin’. I hearn tell ez she hev turned Rood off, an’ won’t speak ter him, though the weddin’ day hed been set! I reckon he felt like payin’ ye back ennyhow it kem handy.”

Doaks drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, wrenched off a fragment with his strong teeth, and, talking indistinctly as he chewed, continued, the anxiety of forecast blunting the actual pain of experience.

“ Ef he keeps this hyar up, Mink, — ef it’s him, an’ he kems roun’ shootin’ at cattle agin, — he mought git some o’ the owners’ stock nex’ time, an’ they mought hold me ’sponsible. I dunno whether they could or no. I ’low he war ’quainted with this cow, an’ knowed her ter be yourn, an’ never drempt ez ye hed swopped her off ter me. I wisht ter Gawd the critter knew ye hed no cattle on the mounting, an’ ain’t ’sponsible ter the owners, ez ye never traded with them, but arter my contract war made ye jes’ went shares with me.”

He seated himself on the rude fence in an awkward attitude, his long legs dangling, and drew out a red bandana handkerchief with which he rubbed his corrugated brow as vigorously as if he could thus smooth out the pucker in his brain.

“ Waal, waal ! this mortal life ! ” he exclaimed, presently. “ Satan won’t leave ye in peace. Ye may go an’ set yerse’f up on the bald of a mounting, herdin’ ’mongst the dumb ones, an’ the worl’ an’ the things o’ this life will kem a-cropin’ up on ye with a rifle, an’ ye be ’bleeged ter turn ’roun’ an’ cornsider how ye kin keep what ye liev got an’ how ye kin git mo’. I useter ’low ef I war a perfessin’ member, this worl’ would n’t stick so in my craw ; so I tuk cornsider’ble pains ter git religion, an’ mighty nigh wore out the mourners’ bench settin’ on it so constant, till I war actially feared the Lord would be pervoked ter see me in the front row o’ them convicted o’ sin at every revival, and visit wrath on me. An’ I never got religion at last; though I feel nigher ter it on Piomingo Bald than ennywhar else, till Rood, or somebody, starts up like they had a contract with Satan to be-devil me.”

Mink listened with a sort of affectionate ruefulness. Then he broke forth, suddenly, “ Mebbe I mought see Rood ef I war ter go down ter Piomingo Cove, whar the boys be goin’ ter shoot fur beef this evenin’. An’ I kin let him know I don’t own no cattle up hyar, an’ hain’t got no trade with the owners, an’ ain’t ’sponsible ter nobody.”

There was a sudden expression of alarm in Doaks’s face. “ Don’t ye let Rood know we suspicioned him, kase he mought hev hed nuthin’ ter do with it.”

“ Naw,” said Mink, with a diplomatic nod, “ I ’ll jes’ tell that whilst I’m a-spreadin’ the tale ’bout the cow.”

There was a short silence. Doaks still sat, with a pondering aspect, on the fence.

“ Rood mought take his gredge out on you-uns some other way, Mink,” he suggested presently. He felt bound in conscience to present the contingency.

“ I ’m ekal ter him,” said Mink hardily. In fact, Mink bore the most lightsome spirit down the mountain, scarcely to be expected in a man who goes to invite a more personal direction of the machinations of a feud. He would have dared far more to secure a respite from the loneliness of Piomingo Bald, to say nothing of the opportunity of mingling in the festivity of shooting for beef. He had not even a qualm of regret for the solitary herder whom he left standing at the fence, gazing down at him a trifle wistfully. He was out of sight presently, but Doaks heard the mare’s hoofs after he had disappeared, — the more distinctly, because of the animal’s habit of striking her hind feet together.

The mists had lifted. It was a positive happiness to Mink to watch the forests expand, as he went down and down the rugged ways of the herder’s trail. There were taller trees on every hand ; great beds of ferns, their fronds matted together, began to appear ; impenetrable jungles of the laurel stretched all along the deep ravines. Now and then a flash of crimson rejoiced the sight; from far gleamed the red cones of the cucumber tree ; the trumpet-flower blossomed in the darkling places; he marked the lustre of the partridge-berry by the wayside.

The mellow black earth was moist from the recent rains, as the narrow, slippery path, curving between a sheer declivity on one side and an almost perpendicular ascent on the other, might testify. His mare traveled it in a devilmay-care fashion, snatching as she went at leaves on the slope above, regardless that a false step would precipitate both herself and her rider into eternity. Noticing this breach of manners, Mink now and then gave a reckless jerk at the bit.

“ Dad-burn ye ! ye greasy buzzard ! A body would ’low ye hed never hearn tell o’ nuthin’ ter eat afore in this worl’ ! ”

Here it was only, above these depths, that he might see the sky, — afar off, as was meet that it should be: he, the earthling, had no kinship with its austere infinities. The growths of the forest were now of incredible magnitude and magnificence. Up and up towered the massive boles, with a canopy of leaves so dense that all the firmament was effaced, and the sunshine trickling through had a white, tempered glister like the moonbeams. What infinite stretches of solitudes! What measureless mountain wilds ! In these solemn spaces Silence herself walked unshod.

Yet stay ! A crystalline vibration, a tinkling tremor, a voice smiting the air, so delicately attuned to all sylvan rhythms, with an accent so fine, so faint, — surely, some oread a-singing !

Nay—only the mountain torrent, dashing its fantastic cascades down its rocky channel, with a louder burst of minstrelsy and a flash of foam as its glittering swirl of translucent water revealed itself, with the laurel and ferns crowding upon its banks and a cardinal flower reflected multiform in a deep and shadowy pool. A mossy log spanned it as foot-bridge, and then it slipped away into the forest, to spring out suddenly and cross the road again and again before it reached the base of the mountain. Mink reckoned the distance by its reappearances, in default of other means.

“ Ye be a-travelin’ toler’ble smart this evenin’,” he observed to the mare. “Ye be mighty nigh ez glad ter git off’n that thar buzzard’s roost up yander ez I be, though I don’t crack my heels tergether ’bout it like you-uns do yourn.”

He did not follow the road into Eskaqua Cove when he reached the level ground. He struck off through one of the ridges that lie like a moulding about the base of the mountains, crossed another nameless barrier, then descended into Piomingo Cove. Sequestered, encompassed by the mountains, rugged of surface, veined with rock, its agricultural interest is hardly served by the conditions which enhance its picturesque aspect, The roofs of a few log cabins at long intervals peer out from among scanty orchards and fields. Tobacco flourishes down the sides of steep funnelshaped depressions worked with the hoe instead of the plough, and suggesting acrobatic capacity as a co-requisite with industry to cultivate it. The woods make heavily into the cove, screening it from familiar knowledge of its hills and dales.

Mink, trotting along the red clay road, came suddenly upon the banks of the Scolacutta River, riotous with the late floods, fringed with the papaw and the ivy bush. Beyond its steely glint he could see the sun-flooded summit of Chilhowee, a bronze green, above the intermediate ranges: behind him was the Great Smoky, all unfamiliar viewed from an unaccustomed standpoint; massive, solemn, of dusky hue; white and amber clouds were slowly settling on the bald. There had been a shower among the mountains, and a great rainbow, showing now only green and rose and yellow, threw a splendid slant of translucent color on the purple slope. In such environment the little rickety wooden mill — with its dilapidated leaking race, with its motionless wheel mossgrown, with its tottering supports throbbing in the rush of the water which rose around them, with a loitering dozen or more mountaineers about the door — might seem a feeble expression of humanity. To Mink the scene was the acme of excitement and interest. His blood was quickening as he galloped up, his hair tossing under the wide brim of his hat, his stirrup-leathers adjusted to the full length of his leg according to the custom of the country, his rifle laid across the pommel of his saddle.

“ Enny chance lef’ fur me ? ” he asked, as he reined in among the loungers.

This observation was received in some sort as a salutation.

“ Hy’re, Mink,” said several voices at once. Other men merely glanced up, their eyes expressing languid interest.

“ Ye don’t want ter shoot, Mink,” said one, with a jocose manner. “ Ye knowed all the chances would be sold by now. Ye hev jes’ kem ’kase ye hearn old Tobias Winkeye air out agin.”

Mink’s dark eyes seemed afire with some restless leaping light. His infectious laughter rang out. “ Never s’picioned it, — so holp me, Jimmy ! When ? ”

‘‘ Ter-night. Ye keep powerful low,” with a cautionary wink.

“ I reckon so,” promised Mink cordially.

A sullen remonstrance broke into these amenities.

“ Waal, Jer’miah Price, I dunno ez ye hev enny call ter let all that out ter Mink Lorey.”

Pete Rood, who delivered this reproof, was not an ill-looking fellow naturally, but his black eyes wore a lowering, disaffected expression. His swarthy squarejawed face indicated a temperament which might be difficult to excite to any keen emotion, and was incapable of nice discrimination ; but which promised, when once aroused, great tenacity of purpose. He wore a suit of gray jeans, loosely fitting, giving his heavy figure additional breadth. He carried his hands in his pockets, and lounged about, throwing an occasional word over his shoulder with a jerky incidental manner.

“ Why not tell Mink ? ” exclaimed Jerry Price, a long, lank fellow, far too tall and slim for symmetry, and whose knees had a sort of premonitory crook in them, as if he were about to shut up, after the manner of a claspknife, into comfortable and convenient portability. His head was frankly red. His freckles stood out plainly for all they were worth; and, regarded as freckles, they were of striking value. A ragged red beard hung down on his unbleached cotton shirt. Physically, he had not a trait to commend him ; but a certain subtle magnetism, that inborn fitness as a leader of men, hung upon his gestures, vibrated in his words, constrained acquiescence in his rude logic.

“Ain’t Mink always been along of we-uns ? ”

Mink dismounted slowly and hitched his mare to the limb of a dogwood tree hard by. Then, leaning upon his rifle, he drawled, “ ’Pears like everybody’s gittin’ sot agin me these days. I dunno who’t war, but this very mornin’ somebody kem up on Piomingo Bald an’ shot a cow ez used ter b’long ter me.”

He raised his eyes suddenly. Rood had lounged off a few steps with an idle gait, swaying from side to side, his hands still in his pockets. But there was tenseness in the pose of his halfturned head. He was listening.

“ Hed ye done traded her off ? ” asked Price, interested. “ Gimme a chaw o’ terbacco.”

“ Ain’t got none. Pete, can’t ye gin this hyar destitute cuss a chaw o’ terbacco ? ”

Rood could not choose but turn his face, while he slouchingly held out his plug. The crafty Mink scanned it, as he leaned his own sun-burned cheek upon the muzzle of the long rifle on which lie lazily supported his weight.

“ Naw, Jerry, ’t war n’t my cow. I can’t keep nuthin’ long enough ter lose it ; I hed traded her off ter Ben Doaks.” There was no mistaking the patent disappointment on Rood’s face. One with far less sharp intelligence than Mink possessed might have descried that hot look in his eyes, as if they burned, — that vacillating indirection which could fix on naught about him. The surprise of the moment deterred him from observing Mink, whose air of unconsciousness afterward afforded no ground for suspicion or fear.

Rood pocketed his plug, and presently slouched off toward the tree where the marksmen were preparing for the shooting-match.

Now and then there flitted to the door of the mill the figure of a stripling, all dusted with flour and meal, and with a torn white hat on his head. He wore ragged jeans trowsers of an indeterminate hue, and an unbleached cotton shirt. When the men were strolling about, he slunk into the duskiness within. But when they were all intent upon the projected trial of skill, he crept shyly to the door, and looked out with a singularly blank, inexpressive gaze.

“ Hy’re ye, Tad ! ” called out Mink gayly.

The young fellow stood for an instant staring; then, with a wide, foolish grin of recognition, disappeared among the shadows within.

“ Let the idjit be, Mink,” said the miller, querulously, — “let him be.”

He was a man of sixty years, perhaps, and bending beneath their weight. His white beard was like a patriarch’s, and his long hair hung down to meet it. He had a parchment-like skin, corrugated, and seeming darker for the contrast with his hair and beard. Beneath his bushy white eyebrows, restless, irritable eyes peered out. He was barefooted, as was the boy, and his poverty showed further in the patches on his brown jeans clothes.

“ Naw, I won’t,” said Mink irreverently. “ I want ter see what Tad does when he skeets off an’ hides that-a-way.”

He pressed into the mill, and the old man looked after him and cursed him in his beard. He swore with every breath he drew.

“ Go on, ye dad-burned fool —go on ter damnation ! Ever sence that thar sneakin’ Mink hev been roun’ hyar,” he continued, addressing Price, “ Tad’pears weaker ’n ever. I can’t ’bide ter keep Tad in the house. He gits inter one o’ his r-uproarious takin’s, an’ it looks like hell could n’t hold him,—skeers the chill’n mighty nigh ter death. Yes, sir ! my gran’chil’n. Daddy war shot by the revenuers, mammy died o’ the lung complaint, an’ the old man ’s got ’em all ter take keer of — ten o’ ’em. An’ my nevy Tad, too, ez war born lackin’. An’ ev’y one of ’em ’s got a stommick like a rat-hole—ye can’t fill it up. Yes, sir ! The Lord somehows hev got his hand out in takin’ keer o’ me an’ mine, an’ he can’t git it in agin.”

“ Waal, they holps ye mightily, plowin’ an’ sech, don’t they, — the biggest ones ; an’ one o’ the gals kin cook, that thar spry one, ’bout fifteen year old; I ’m a-goin’ ter wait fur her, — beats all the grown ones in the cove fur looks,” said the specious Jerry Price. “An’ they air all mighty good chill’n, ain’t they ? Oughter be. Good stock.”

“ Naw, sir ; naw, sir ! ” the old man replied, so precipitately that his iterative mutter had the effect of interruption. “ Durnes’ meanes’ chill’n I ever see. Ripenin’ fur hell ! Scandalous mean chill’n.”

“ I reckon so,” said Rood suddenly. “ Thar goes one o’ ’em now.” He pointed to a scapegrace three feet high, clad in a suit of cotton check of light blue. His trousers reached to his shoulder blades, and were sustained by a single suspender. A ragged old black hat was perched on the back of his tow head. He had the clothes-line tied to the hind leg of a pig which he was driving. He seemed to be in high feather, and apparently felt scant lack of a more spirited steed. In fact, the pig gave ample occupation to his skill, coming to a halt sometimes and rooting about in an insouciant manner, reckless of control. When he was pushed and thumped and forced to take up the line of march, he would squeal dolorously and set out at a rate of speed hardly predicable of the porcine tribe. “ Look how he’s a-actin’ ter that thar pore peeg,” added Rood.

Old Gus Griff fixed his dark eye upon him.

“ Enny friend o’ yourn ?” he asked.

“ Who ?” demanded Rood, amazed.

“ That thar peeg.”

“ Naw, o’ course not.”

“ Then keep yer jaw off’n him. Who set ye up ter jedge o’ the actions o’ my gran’chile? That thar boy’s name air ’Gustus Thomas Griff—fur me ! An’ I got nine mo’ gran’chil’n jes’ like him. An’ ye lay yer rough tongue ter a word agin one o’ ’em, an’ old ez I be I ’ll stretch ye out flat on that thar groun’ they air a-medjurin’ ter shoot on. Ye greasy scandal-bit scamp yerse’f ! ”

Rood was fain to step back hastily, for the miller came blustering up with an evident bellicose intention. “ Lord A’mighty, old man ! ” he exclaimed, “ I never said nuthin’ agin ’em, ’cept what ye say yerse’f. I would n’t revile the orphan ! ”

“Jes’ stop a-pityin’ ’em, then, durn ye ! ” exclaimed the exacting old man. “ They ain’t no orphans sca’cely nohows, with thar grandad an’ sech alive.”

“ That’s what I knowed, Mr. Griff,” said the bland Price, standing between them. “ Pete’s jes’ ’bidin’ the time o’ the fool-killer. Must be a powerful rank crap fur him somewhar, bein’ ez Pete’s spared this long. That’s what I knowed an’ always say ’bout them chill’n.”

The old man, mollified for the instant, paused, his gnarled knotted hands shaking nervously, the tremor in his unseen lips sending a vague shiver down all the length of his silver beard. The excitement, painful to witness, was dying out of his eager eyes, when a mad peal of laughter rang out from the recesses of the old mill.

“What be that thar blamed idjit a-doin’ of now ! him an’ that thar minkish Mink ! ”

He turned and went hastily into the shadowy place. Bags of grain were scattered about. The hopper took up much room in the limited space; behind it the miller’s nephew and Mink were sitting on the step of a rude platform. They had a half bushel measure inverted between them, and on it was drawn a geometric figure upon which were ranged grains of corn.

There was a pondering intentness on the idiot’s wide face very nearly approaching a gleam of intelligence. Mink, incongruously patient and silent, awaited Tad’s play ; both were unaware of the old man, among the dusky shadows, peering at them from over the hopper. At last, Tad, with an appealing glance at Mink, and an uncertain hand, adjusted a grain of corn. He leaned forward eagerly, as Mink promptly played in turn. Then, fixing all the faculties of his beclouded mind upon the board, he finally perceived that the game had ended, and that his opponent was victor. Once more his harsh laughter echoed from the rafters. “ Ye won it, Mink. Ye won the coon.”

“ I don’t want yer coon,” said Mink, good-naturedly. “ Ye kin keep yer coon ter bet nex’ time.”

“ Naw, ye kin hev the coon, Mink ! ” He caught at a string dangling from a beam. “ Kem down hyar, ye idjit ! ” he cried, with a strange, thick-tongued enunciation. “ Kem down hyar, ye fool ! ”

The old man suddenly made his way around the hopper and stood before them. Tad rose, with a startled face. Mink looked up composedly.

“ Do you know what ye air a-doin’ of, Mink Lorey?” asked the old man, sternly.

“ L’arnin’ Tad ter play ‘ five corn,’ ” said Mink, innocently. “ He kin play right sorter peart fur a lackin’ one. I dunno ez I b’lieve Tad ’s so powerful fursaken noways, ef ennybody would take the pains ter l’arn him. I b’lieves he’d show a right mind arter a while.”

“ An’ thar ye sit, ez complacent ez a bull-frog — ye that the Lord hev favored with senses,” cried the old man, “ sech ez they be,” he stipulated, making not too much of Mink’s endowments, “ a-usin’ of ’em ter ruin a pore idjit boy,” — Mink’s eyes flashed surprise, — “a-l’arnin’ him ter play a gamblin’ game.”

“ Shucks ! five corn ! ” cried Mink, accustomed to the iniquity of “ playin’ kyerds,” and scorning to rate the puerile beguilements of “five corn” among the “ gambling games ” which he had mastered, — “ what’s five corn ! Enny child kin play it— that thar coon could l’arn it ef he hed a mind ter it. I don’t want the critter, Tad; I don’t want it.”

The old man’s tongue had found its ready oaths. “ A-fixin’ on the idjit boy fur the prey o’ Satan. A-l’arnin’ him ter play a gamblin’ game ter damn his soul. An’ a-trickin’ him out’n his coon.”

“ I never! ” cried Mink, in hasty extenuation. “ I jes’ put up my rifle agin his coon ter make him think he war playin’ sure enough ! But I ain’t a-goin’ ter keep his coon, an’ I don’t want it, nuther ! ”

“ I kin read the future,” cried out the old man, suddenly, flinging up his hand and shading his peering eyes with it. “ I kin view the scenes o’ hell. I see ye, Mink Lorey, a-writhin’ in the pits o’ torment, with the flames a-wroppin’ ’round ye, an’ a-swallerin’ melted iron an’ a-smellin’ sulphur an’ brimstone. I see ye! Bless the Lord, — I see ye thar! ”

“ Naw, ye don’t!” interpolated Mink, angrily.

The idiot had slunk to one side, and was gazing at the two with a white, startled face, still mechanically jerking the string, at the end of which the reluctant coon tugged among the beams above.

“ I see ye thar, — damned yerse’f fur tryin’ ter damn the idjit’s soul ! ”

“Ye 'd better look arter yer own soul ! ” cried Mink, “ an’ quit l’arnin’ the jdjit ter cuss. He do it percisely like he git the word from ye, an’ ye air a perfessin’ member, what shouts at the camp-meetin’, an’ prays with ' the Power,’ an’ laffs with the ' holy laff ’! Shucks ! I hev hearn ye exhortin’ them on the mourners’ bench.”

Once more the old man broke out angrily.

Mink interrupted. " Quit cussin’ me ! Quit it! ” he cried. He wore a more badgered look than one would have believed possible, as the miller, with his hoary head and tremulous beard, pressed close upon him in the dark, narrow apartment, the idiot’s white face — a sort of affrighted glare upon it — dimly visible beside him. “Quit it! I ain’t a-goin’ ter take nare nuther word off’n ye ! ”

“ How ye goin’ ter holp it? Goin’ ter hit a old man, — old enough ter be yer grandad, eh ? ” suggested the wary old creature, making capital of his infirmities.

“I ’ll bust yer mill down, ef ye don’t lemme out’n it. Lemme out!” cried Mink, tumultuously, striving to push past.

Jerry Price’s long, lank figure appeared in the doorway. It was not policy which animated him, for he had nothing at stake. With an inherent knowledge of human nature, some untutored instinctive capacity for manipulating its idiosyncrasies, he half consciously found a certain satisfaction in exercising his keen acumen on the men about him. It might have been employed more profitably in the fields of local polities, had the gift been adequateIy realized and valued. He was of an amiable, even of an admirable, temperament, and he devised the adjustment of many complications, in which open interference would avail naught, by subtly appealing to some predominant motive or sentiment with the accuracy with which a surgeon can touch a nerve.

“ Look-a-hyar, Mink,” he said, apparently unconscious of any signs of a quarrel, “ ain’t you-uns a-goin’ ter shoot? ”

Mink’s angry aspect dropped like a husk.

“ Waal, I can’t, ye know,” he said, in a voice eager with interest. " They ’lowed ter me ez they hed done made up the money an’ bought the beef, an’ all the chances are gone, — six fur a dollar, shillin’ apiece.”

“ Waal, I bought eight chances. I ’ll let ye hev two on ’em, ef two ’ll do ye.”

“ Jiminy Crack-corn an’ I don’t keer ! ” exclaimed Mink, doubling himself partly in a gesture of ecstasy, and partly to reach a silver coin that led a lonesome life in the depths of his long pocket. He handed it over, and slapped his leg with a sounding thwack. “ I could shoot ye all off 'n the ground, an’ I kin git the fust an’ second ch’ice in two cracks.”

Rood, in the doorway behind Price, regarded the transaction with disapproval.

“ I don’t b’lieve it’s ’cordin’ ter rules, Jerry,” he expostulated, “ter go roun’ an’ swap off yer chances arter ye paid fur ’em. I never seen it done afore, noways.”

“ Ye hold yer jaw ! ” said Price, imperious, though good-natured. “ I hev shot fur beef ’fore ye war born ! ” — a diminutive marksman, were this statement to receive full credit, since he was but a year or two older than Rood.

Irregular though it may have been, there was no appeal from the self-arrogated authority of Price, and his oftreiterated formula as to his experience before his interlocutor’s birth had all the enlightened functions of precedent.

Rood said no more, appreciating the futility of remonstrance. He stood, surly enough, in the doorway, listening absently to the garrulous clamor of the old miller, who was telling again and again of Mink’s iniquity in teaching Tad " five corn,’’ and his threats against the mill.

“ I dare ye ter lay a finger on the mill ! ” he cried. “ I ’ll put ye in that thar hopper an’ grind every ounce o’ yer carcass ter mineh meat.”

Mink gave him no heed. He had joined the group of marksmen near the tree on which the targets were to be fixed. He was loading his gun, holding the ball in the palm of his hand, and pouring enough powder over it to barely cover it in a conical heap. He dextrously adjusted the “ patching,” and as he rammed down the charge he paused suddenly. From a little log cabin on a rise hard by, a delicate spiral wreath of smoke curled up over the orchard, and airily defined itself against the mountain. At the rail fence a girl of fifteen was standing; sunny-haired, blue-eyed, barefooted, and slatternly. The peaches were ripe in the weighted trees above her head ; he heard the chanting bees among them. The pig was grunting luxuriously among their roots and the fallen over-ripe fruit; for his driver, ’Gustus Tom, and the elder boy Joseph had gone down to the mill for a closer view of the match ; the children who had mounted the fence being deterred from accompanying them by feminine decorum. The dogs appertaining to the place had also gone down to the mill, and were conferring with the followers of the contestants in the match. One, however, a gaunt and gray old hound, who had half climbed the fence, hesitated, resting in transit on the topmost rail, a lean, eager curiosity on his grave, serious countenance, his neck stretched, his head close to the pretty head of the little maiden.

“ Howdy, sis! ” called out the bold Mink, the ramrod arrested half-way in the barrel, his face shadowed by his broad-brimmed hat, his hair Haunting in the wind.

She gave a flattered smile, full of precocious coquetry.

“ Sick him, Bose ! ” she exclaimed to the faithful dog. “ Sick him ! ”

Bose fastened his glare on Mink, raised his bristles, and growled obediently.

The young man with a gay laugh drove the charge home, and rattled the ramrod sharply into its place.

Already the first report of the rifle had pealed into the quietude of the cove ; the rocks clamored as with the musketry of a battle. Far, far and faint the sound clanged back from the ranges between Chilhowee and the river, from all the spurs and ravines of the Big Smoky. The sunshine had the burnished fullness of post-meridian lustre, mellow, and all unlike the keen matutinal glitter of earlier day ; but purple shadows encircled the cove, and ever and anon a shining curve was described on the mountain side as the wings of a homeward-bound bird caught the light. Sometimes the low of cattle rose upon the air. The beef, as the young ox was prematurely called, lifted his head, listening. He stood, the rope about his neck, secured to a hitehing-post near the mill, looking calmly upon the ceremonies that sealed his destiny. It is to be hoped, in view of the pangs of prescience, that the animal’s deductive capacities and prophetic instincts are not underrated, or the poor beef’s presence at the shootingmatch might express the acme of anguished despair. He was an amiable brute, and lent himself passively to the curiosity of ’Gustus Tom, who came up more than once, gazed fixedly at him, and examined his horns and hoofs, his eyes and nozzle, doubtless verifying some preconceptions as to facts in natural history.

The young mountaineers seemed to shoot with startling rapidity. Only one green hand labored under the delusion that a long aim can do aught but “ wobble the eyes.” As each flung himself prostrate, with a grave intentness of expression and a certain precipitancy of gesture, it might have seemed some strange act of worship, but for the gun resting upon a log placed for the purpose, sixty yards from the mark, — the customary distance in shooting-matches with the old-fashioned rifle, — and the sudden sharp crack of the report. They were shooting with a marksmanship so nearly equal that it was readily apparent that the office of the anxious-eyed judges was not an enviable honor. Occasionally disputes arose, and the antagonists gathered around the tree, examining the targets with vociferous gesticulation which often promised to end in cuffs. Once the two judges disagreed, when it became necessary to call in an impartial “ thirdsman ” and submit the question. The old miller, placid once more, accepted the trust, decided judiciously, and the match proceeded.

Mink’s turn came presently.

As he ran deftly in and out among the heavy young mountaineers, he seemed more than ever like some graceful wild animal, with such elastic lightness, such reserve of strength, such keen endowment of instinct. He arranged in its place his hoard, previously blackened with moistened powder, and marked with a cross drawn on it with a knife blade ; each contestant had brought a precisely similar target. Then, to distinguish the centre at sixty yards he carefully affixed a triangular bit of white paper, so that it touched the cross at the intersection of the lines. As he ran lightly back to the log and flung himself upon the ground, his swift movement and his lithe posture struck the attention of one of the men.

“ Now, ain’t ye the livin’ image o’ a mink! Ye’ve got nuthin’ ter do but ter crope under that thar log, like thar war a hen hidin’ thar, an’ ye war tryin’ ter git it by the throat.”

Mink cast his bright eyes upward. “ Ye shet up!” he exclaimed. Then he placed his rifle on the log and aimed in a twinkling, — his finger was on the trigger.

At this moment ’Gustus Tom, in his overwhelming curiosity, contrived to get his small anatomy between the marksman and the tree. The jet of red light leaped out, the funnel-shaped smoke diffused itself in a formless cloud, and the ball whizzed close by the boy’s head.

There ensued a chorus of exclamation. The old man quavered out piteously. Mink, dropping the rifle to the ground, leaped up, seized the small boy by the nape of the neck, and deposited him with a shake in the bosom of his aged relative.

“ Ye limb o’ Satan,’Gustus Tom!” cried out the old man. “ Ain’t ye’ got no better sense ’n ter go out fur a evenin’ walk ’twixt that thar tree an’ these hyar boys, ez could n’t begin ter shoot agin me an’ my mates when I shot for beef whenst I war young? A-many-atime I hev fired the five bes’ shots myself, an’ won all the five ch’ices o’ the beef, an’ jes’ druv the critter home,— won it all ! But these hyar fool boys jes’ ez soon bang yer head off ez hit the mark. Ye g’ long ’fore I skeer the life out’n ye ! ”

And ’Gustus Tom, in the unbridled pride of favoritism and with the fear of no man before his eyes, went along as far as the front rank of the crowd, continuing a fervid spectator of the sport.

The agitation of the moment had impaired to a slight degree Mink’s aim. The shot was, however, one of the best yet made, and there was a clamor of negation when he insisted that he ought to have it over. The judges ruled against him. and the sport proceeded.

As Rood made his last shot, his strongly marked dark face was lighted with a keen sense of triumph. Although, according to strictest construction, the ball had not penetrated the centre, it was within a hair’s breadth of it, and it was so unlikely that it would be surpassed that he tasted all the assured triumphs of victory before the battle was won.

With Mink’s second shot arose the great dispute of the day. Like Rood’s, it was not fairly in the bull’s-eye, if the point of intersection might be so called, but it too lacked only a hair’s breadth. Mink was willing enough for a new trial, but Rood, protesting, stood upon his rights. The judges consulted together apart, reëxamined the boards, finally announced their incapacity to decide, and called in the “ thirdsman.”

Mink made no objection when the miller, as referee, came to look at the board. He, too, examined it closely, holding his big hat in his hand that it might cast no shadow. There was no perceptible difference in the value of the two shots. Mink hardly believed he had heard aright when the “ thirdsman,” with scarcely a moment’s hesitation, declared there was no doubt about the matter. Rood’s shot was the fairer. “ I could draw a line twixt Mink’s and the centre.”

There was a yell of derision from the young fellows. Rood wore a provoking sneer. Mink stood staring.

“ Look-a-hyar,” he said roughly, “ ye haffen-blind old owel! Ye can’t tell the differ ’twixt them shots. It’s a tie.”

“ Rood’s air the closest, an’ he gits the fust ch’ice o’ beef! ” said the old man, his white beard and mustache yawning with his toothless laugh. “ Ai-yi ! Mink, ye ain’t so powerful minkish yit ez ter git the fust ch’ice o’ beef.”

“Ye’ll hev the second ch’ice, Mink,” said Price consolingly. He himself, the fourth best shot, had the fourth choice.

“ I won’t hev the second ch’ice ! ” exclaimed Mink. “It’s nobody but that thar weezened old critter ez ’lows I oughter. Fust he sent his gran’son, that thar slack-twisted ’Gustus Tom, ter git in my aim, — wisht I hed shot him ! An’ then, when I lets him be thurdsman, he air jes’ so durned m’licious he don’t even stop an’ take a minit ter decide.” Mink’s heart was hot. He had been wounded in his most vulnerable susceptibility, his pride in his marksmanship.

“ Look-a-hyar, Mink ! ” remonstrated Price, “ye ain’t a-goin’ off ’fore the beef’s been butchered an’ ye git the second ch’ice. Stop ! Hold on ! ”

For Mink was about to mount.

“ I don’t want no beef,” he said. “ I hev been cheated ’mongst ye. I won the fust ch’ice, an’ I won’t put up with the second.”

Price was nonplused for a moment; then he evolved a solution. “ I ’ll sell it, Mink,” he cried, “ an’ bring ye the money! An’ don’t ye furgit old Tobias Winkeye,” he added beguilingly.

“Who’s old Tobias Winkeye?” asked the old man, tartly.

Price laughed, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans trousers, and looked around, winking at the others with a jocosity enfeebled somewhat by his light sparse lashes. “Jes’ a man ez hev got a job fur Mink,” he said, enigmatically.

The old miller, baffled, and apprehending the mockery, laughed loud and aggressively, his white beard shaking, his bushy eyebrows overhanging his twinkling eyes.

“ Hed n’t ye better bust the mill down, Mink ?” he said floutingly.

“ I will, — see ef I don’t ! ” Mink retorted, as he wheeled his horse.

Only idle wrath, an idle threat, void of even the vaguest intention. They all knew that at the time. But the significance of the scene was altered in the light of after events.

Mink’s fate had mounted with him, and the mare carried double as he rode out of Piomingo Cove.

Charles Egbert Craddock.